Morning sun glinted across shelves of cinnamon rolls and rye loaves. The scent of sugar dusted light through the window, framing two figures by the glass counter. “Did you really find it inside the cherry strudel?” “A bit sticky, but unmistakable. Mary’s locket, of all things.” A soft hum of the oven punctuated the silence. Flour smudges marked the edge of the counter. “It slipped from her neckline last night at the council meeting. She thought it stolen.” “Stolen by a stranger—so she said. But now it’s right here, in pastry.” A bell chimed as the door opened. The jingle faded into whispers of dough rising. “Do you think someone hid it on purpose?” “Could be. Someone knew exactly where to look—and exactly when.” The baker wiped hands on an apron, eyes drifting toward the back room. Tray after tray of golden pastries lined the walls like silent witnesses. “I’ll check the security camera in a bit,” the first voice said, glancing at the dusty monitor. “If someone sneaked in after hours…” “Or someone from town.” A low chuckle followed. “They don’t always stay strangers.”